Harry Potter and the Curbside Prophet
by newtypeshadow
Summary: A stranger has come to Hogsmede. They call him the Curbside Prophet. It is said when he looks at certain people, he can tell them secrets of their past and future. This Hogsmede weekend, he has a little something to say to Harry. slash


**Title:** Harry Potter and the Curbside Prophet  
**Author:** newtypeshadow  
**Notes: **inspired by pepperjackcandy's _Unfogging the Future_ fic (which, i might add, is unfinished) and the line 'curbside prophet' by Jason Mraz. An intro, of sorts.

* * *

They called him the Curbside Prophet down in Hogsmede, and before he had been there a week all of Hogwarts was abuzz with rumors of the strange man: about how he had just appeared one day, sitting covered head to foot in those heavy brown robes; about how he never slept, never ate, and never spoke but to a choice few whose names were in the stars. It was said his robes hid a terrible disfigurement that drove all who saw it mad. It was said he was blind, but that his eyes could see into the future—and your soul. It was said that when he looked at certain people, he would tell them of their lives past and future, and of their families and guarded fears. 

The first Hogsmede weekend, the students forwent their usual banter, eating, and shopping, and rushed instead to see the Prophet. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs got in line the fastest. Then came the Gryffindors, and finally, taking care to seem unexcited, the Slytherins. The line was painted like the Hogwarts quidditch stadium, colors standing with colors, with a few mismatched scarves sticking out among the washes of blue, yellow, red, green. Harry, Ron, and Hermione brought up the rear of the Gryffindor line, wanting to see what was said of their housemates before their own turns. Draco Malfoy, the git, used Crabbe and Goyle to push himself and a few favored Slytherins just behind the trio. A brawl nearly broke out between the opposing houses—begun by Malfoy, of course. It ended when Hermione switched places with Ron, and resolutely ignored the lot of them.

It helped that the line was moving quickly. The hood, pulled low over the Prophet's head, shook minutely as person after person stepped before him. Periodically, someone's turn would come and the hood was still. The student, adult, child, would place his or her feet at the very edge of the Prophet's circle of stones, and bend at the waist to hear the sotto voce tones impart words of wisdom and truth, advice or comfort before the fact.

He had something to say to most of the Gryffindors. He nodded for a handful of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. He spoke to Theodore Nott and Professor Snape, spots of green and black among the blue-and-silver. He actually _touched_ Rubeus Hagrid's hand.

People stayed to watch even after their turns were over. "Waiting for Potty, no doubt," Draco sneered. Secretly, though,everyone thought it was true. Even Harry thought so, though he half hoped the Curbside Prophet had nothing to say to him. Somehow, however, he felt the Prophet would, and Harry had a very peculiar feeling about the entire situation. Malfoy, too, got quiet the closer they came.

Finally it was Harry's turn. The stranger nodded and Harry stepped to the edge of the circle and bent, waiting. He distantly noted Draco creeping up close behind him to hear, and it wasn't until much later that Harry understood why the thought was comforting.

The Curbside Prophet was speaking. His low, masculine tones slid through Harry's ears like a snake along the ground, like a rope around the ankles...like—

"A _spell_—" Harry heard Malfoy say, and then the Slytherin's quidditch-calloused hand latched onto Harry's wrist and _burned_. It was too late to back away from the circle though, too late to move at all, because a bigger hand clamped on Harry's _left_ wrist and drew him into the stone circle that was suddenly glowing, bright and brighter until the stones were blinding to look at. Malfoy still grasped one of Harry's hands outside of the circle, and Harry found himself praying to the Slytherin as one prays to a lifeline not to unravel and break.

My wand! Harry thought before he realized _both_ his wrists were trapped, and he didn't dare try to use his right hand lest Malfoy let go rather than be drawn into the circle. A voice chanted in Harry's ear, suspiciously familiar but terribly grave. Latin, it sounded like, weaving around his body and holding him, pressing in tight.

The street was strangely silent to Harry's ears, and from what he could see through the filmy circle of light, nothing existed but the circle, the Prophet, and Harry. Malfoy's hand spasmed on his wrist, and Harry managed to turn enough to see the snooty Slytherin wince in pain and then appear strangely peaceful as his head broke through the tower of light formed by the circle of stones. Suddenly the Prophet's rush of words made sense...

—_through the window destined thee  
...give to innocence my quest...  
...seek, protect the faithless Dragon...  
...tame the unicorn of stars...  
...the Father's curse of broken threads  
...that through your deeds I may be me, and you return and wiser be...  
Harry Potter, you have been chosen and charged. Do you accept?_

Harry didn't understand, though he felt an urgent desperation in the Curbside Prophet that he thought he recognized. "Why should I help you?" he choked. Raw power was seeping from the Prophet's hands into his veins. It was white-hot and arctic cold, the heady rush of it dizzying and strange.

"Don't do it, Harry," whispered the disembodied voice behind him, for once with a backbone to match the quavering fear.

"Draco will die if you don't save him," the Prophet said.

Behind him, Malfoy vehemently denied it.

"Not you," the Prophet corrected. "_My_ Draco..." and his voice cracked.

"Why should I care?" Harry bit out. His stomach sank and an odd disappointment pierced his chest.

The stranger paused. Hesitantly, he removed his white-knuckled fingers from Harry's wrist. Harry tried to pull himself toward Malfoy, toward the safety outside the column of light, but found himself locked in place by invisible chains.

The Curbside Prophet peeled off his dirty brown hood and met Harry's eyes. Sorrowful green pierced shocked green of the exact same shade; scar for twisted scar, feature for feature, freckle for faint freckle, they were mirror images of each other but for the age and deep sadness in one that couldn't possibly be reflected by the other. Outside the circle, Malfoy's hand clenched Harry's wrist all the more tightly. Harry twisted his wrist and gripped Malfoy just as hard.

"Draco is my soulmate," whispered the Curbside Prophet. "He is in my world, and in every other universe I have visited, seeking an alternate of myself who could take the quest I am too jaded to make. I want my husband back. I don't want Lucius's curse to break every incarnation of _us_ apart."

"What right do you have to ruin Potter's life so you can enjoy yours?" Malfoy spoke up, "you don't get another chance after someone dies."

"He's not dead. He's trapped. And this Harry is the only one who can attempt to break the curse and free him." The Prophet looked hard at Harry. "Out of every universe with Harry Potter in it, _you_ are the only one with a chance of completing this task."

"Potter, don't-"

"_Please_, Harry, I'm begging you. This affects you too—"

"_I'm_ begging you, Harry, don't do it! This world still needs you, you selfish, _stupid_-"

Harry was astonished when Malfoy used his name, so much so that he barely registered the insult or the Prophet's Parseltongued whisper: "He can never love you if you don't—the curse will end all that. _All_ of it."

"I'll do it," Harry said at once, and a roaring sound in the stones' light overwhelmed his senses. Then there was silence, and the hand gripping his wrist wasn't there. Harry was completely alone. Still, he felt a tenuous connection to the young Slytherin who had cared enough to make his life hell, and to hold on and beg that he not be Gryffindor enough to accept another cross.

"I can do this," Harry thought to himself, surveying his unfamiliar surroundings. "I _will_ do this," he vowed aloud. This task wasn't just for Draco. It was for himself.

* * *

Notes:  
The Faithless Dragon – Draco Malfoy (Dragon of Bad Faith)  
The Father's curse – Lucius's curse  
The curse, if it was unclear, would keep every Harry in every universe and every Draco in every universe from ever being together.  
The chant, I realize, is rather weak.

I'm not altogether sure I'll write anymore of this. I kinda like the open-endedness of it. (That and I tend to write beginnings with no endings. Anyway, I hope it tweaked your imaginations! Comments and criticism are very welcome.


End file.
